Dark Science of Masturbation

Beware the quiet, private war,

Waged behind the bathroom door.

A transaction made, a debt incurred,

For the flight of a solitary bird.

It starts a whisper, soft and deep,

A promise of a pleasure cheap.

A hit of what the brain craves most,

A temporary, phantom ghost.

The screen provides the super-normal,

A stimulus that feels immortal.

A flood of what makes you feel bright,

A hijacking of pure delight.

But here’s the horror, slow and true,

The hidden cost, it comes for you.

The brain, adaptive, starts to change,

A territory rearranged.

It prunes the receptors, turns down the light,

The world outside grows dim and blight.

What once was vibrant, now seems gray,

The price you pay, day after day.

The pleasure center, numb and tired,

The very thing you once desired,

Now leaves you hollow, drained, and spent,

On a cheap high, your soul is rent.

You chase the dragon in your mind,

But real connection’s left behind.

A silent, shrinking, lonely world,

In its cold embrace, you’re curled.

So see the monster, not with shame,

But call the science by its name.

This is not sin, it’s circuitry,

A broken loop you have to see.

The path ahead is in your hand,

To make a brave and different stand.

To let the quiet, painful void,

A strength within you, unemployed.

For when you starve the hungry beast,

And let the tired mind find its peace,

The world regains its stolen hue,

And a truer you comes back to you.

Moral of the Poem:

Compulsive behavior creates a neurological debt, draining your capacity for real-world joy. Recognizing this biological hijacking is the first step toward reclaiming your focus, energy, and emotional richness.